


The Long And The Short of It: A Shorts Story

by Polkat (aralias)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: April Showers 2015, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-07
Updated: 2004-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/Polkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about the time Sirius ran away from home. The title is a hint that it's all an excuse to put him in a pair of shorts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long And The Short of It: A Shorts Story

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading old fic for April Showers 2015. All spelling/grammar errors (and my weird paragraphing) left as originally posted. These fics were never actually posted under the name 'Polkat' but I thought I'd group all my HP stuff together as the name change denotes a change in platform (FF.NET to LJ) rather than a change in the way I was writing.

Despite what he would later tell people Sirius Black arrived on the Potters’ doorstep in the summer sunshine at about four o’clock in the afternoon. The gate into the garden opened with a pleasing fantastical creak and with some difficulty Sirius manoeuvred his trunk through the small space that had been created and into the Potters’ front garden which was ramshackle and friendly, rather like its owners, and didn’t seem to quite know whether it wanted to be a lawn or a vegetable patch. In the distance he could hear the excited yells that suggested his best friend was outside practicing Quidditch with the owner of a slightly a deeper voice he didn’t know quite as well and which probably belonged to James’ dad. It was all rather like some peculiar fairy tale home and Sirius half expected the daffodils to start serenading him (no doubt had James known he was coming they would be) but the only sounds apart from the shouts of the Quidditch players were his own footsteps and the gentle twittering of several birds.   
  
Abandoning his heavy, black trunk at the bottom of the steps Sirius bounded up to the front door, painted a brilliant Gryffindor red, looked vaguely at the door bell (a birthday present to Henry Potter from Arthur Weasley) and decided merely to holler:  _“JAMES!”_  as loudly as he could.  
  
The sounds of the Quidditch stopped abruptly and were replaced with new sounds that, from long years of practice, he correctly identified as the noises made when a seventeen-year-old boy landed too quickly almost falling off his broom and started running bare-foot across a wooden floor, opening and slamming three doors on the way.  
  
The one nearest him opened quickly to reveal James Potter clad in a bizarre collection of brightly coloured summer clothes. James took one look at Sirius standing on his doorstep in full, very black dress robes, said: “sorry, we don’t want any double glazing today,” and disappeared from sight behind the glossy red door, once more.   
  
Slightly startled, Sirius started laughing and hammered on the door which obediently opened again.  
“I  _said-”_  James began but Sirius was ready for him this time and was already into the hallway and embracing his best friend.   
By now James was laughing too as he thumped Sirius on the back as dictated by the doctrine of manly hugs.  _“Hello_  Paddy…. What the hell are you  _doing_  here?”  
  
Sirius released him and grinned. “Well, I’m not selling double glaring or whatever it was, you tosser. Just thought I’d stop by and see you.”  
“You could have written,” James pointed out, with a smile. “We would have had a proper welcoming committee or something.”  
“Singing daffodils and all.”  
“Er… Yer, if you wanted them and…” he looked around Sirius into the front garden. “Hey, is that your school trunk?”  
Sirius turned to check it really was his trunk even though he had left there minutes ago, his cheeks now vaguely pink which was as close as he ever came to blushing. “Oh… yer it is. I - ” He tried to smile.   
But James wasn’t laughing any more. “What happened?”  
“Oh, er… Well, I might have…er, run away...”  
“You  _ran away?_ ”  
Sirius’ vaguely uncomfortable grin was back. “Well… sort of half running away… half kicked out, but I think I decided I was going to run away before my mum told me never to come back so I still have the upper hand - ”  
James was staring at him and Sirius forced another laugh. “I showed her…” He tried to look appealing. “Can I… er… stay with you for a bit?”   
“I-” James started.   
“Of course, you can,” a light female voice from behind James said, slightly impatiently. “What a silly question.” James jumped and then pretended he hadn’t as slight, bespectacled Clare Potter appeared from the kitchen, tapping her wand briskly against her hand so that it emitted pale turquoise sparks that illuminated the large hallway.  
“Hello Sirius,” she said warmly, stowing her wand away in one of the pockets of her jeans.   
“Good afternoon, Mrs Potter” he replied politely, holding out his hand: the years of Black etiquette training having left a mark that not even a boisterous, Gryffindor personality could completely banish. The corners of Clare’s mouth twitched into a half smile, very like that of her son, as she shock his hand as solemnly as possible. “I don’t mean to intrude,” Sirius continued, “but I really need a place to stay until the summer holidays are over so if you wouldn’t mind I could sleep on the floor or-”  
Clare laughed and hugged him, something Sirius was entirely unprepared to deal with having only mastered manly and romantic hugs in the past. “Henry can transfigure one of the chairs into a bed for you,” James’ mother declared, drawing back. “He’s always complaining about never getting to show off his excellence at transfiguration so he’ll enjoy that.”  
  
Sirius wasn’t sure whether this was a joke (although if Henry was anything like his son it probably wasn’t) and offered a smile, which mother and son returned. “Thank you very much, Mrs Potter.”  
“You’re welcome,” she answered. “And if you’re going to be living here it might as well be Clare. I’ll speak for Henry as well before he insists you call him something outrageous like Grand Master Auror, which… has been known to happen.”  
An unreasonable bubble of happiness blossomed in the bottom of Sirius’ stomach. “Thank you, Clare.”  
“You’re welcome. I’m sure it will be a pleasure having you…. perhaps you can instil some of manners into my son during your stay but I wouldn’t count on it.”   
James made an indignant noise but Clare just ruffled his hair affectionately and wandered back into the kitchen, removing her wand as she went.   
  
“Does your dad really get people to call him Grand Master Auror?” Sirius asked, after she’d vanished.   
“Well, not usually.” James started laughing. “But Peter came to stay last summer. You remember? You couldn’t come.”  
Sirius nodded.  
“I think dad thought it would be funny and that Peter would eventually realise it was a joke and start calling him Henry but sadly Pete never did which dad thought was even more hilarious.”  
“Well, it was,” the deep voice Sirius had heard earlier, added. The man it belonged to was extremely tall, had a very wide, laughing smile and James’ nose and hair. He lounged easily in the doorway, holding two racing brooms, once of which Sirius recognised as James’ and was wearing an odd combination of robes and muggle clothing: a long burgundy robe of some kind of light material over black shorts. Like his son Henry was also bare foot. “Peter’s coming again this year, isn’t he?” he said, eyes sparkling.  
“You are a horrible man,” James informed his father, loftily.   
Henry laughed. “I know… Hello Sirius, nice to see you again. I hear my wife’s already warned you about me so-”  
“You’re going to be nice to him,” Clare shouted from the kitchen.   
“I’m always nice,” Henry countered in a hurt voice, edging towards the door behind which his wife lurked, his teeth flashing. “But I’ll be especially nice to Sirius, who can call me Henry.”  
Sirius wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to reply to this or not as Henry was not inside the kitchen and quite definitely speaking to Clare who managed a “good, honestly Henry-” before shrieking with laughter, as he presumably started tickling her.   
  
James made a face. “Please ignore my parents,” he said in a pained sort of voice. “They’re alright really, they’re just really goofy about each other sometimes.”  
Sirius started laughing. “No, it’s great. They always seemed really normal at the train station. Now I know where you get it from.”   
“Oh, you are so sleeping on the floor,” James answered wickedly and then broke into a grin. “Come on: I’ll show you the house.”  
  


*

  
  
Staying with the Potters was just as wonderful as Sirius had hoped it would be. Both of James’ parents were great cooks and often fought amicably about who would make the food for the day. Occasionally both of them won and Sirius would come downstairs in the morning to find a dishevelled James piling his plate high with Henry’s speciality (pancakes) mixed with Clare’s (scrambled eggs and bacon) and the two senior Potters pointedly eating their own cooking and making faces at each other like a pair of overgrown eleven-year-olds.   
  
On the other hand neither of them particularly enjoyed cleaning, but, fortunately, they owned a house elf which spent all of its time happily cleaning up the chaos they created by never putting anything away. This trait had been passed onto James who insisted that Filly, the house elf, leave his room untouched. After seventeen years the situation had become so extreme that it had taken at least ten minutes to push enough of James’ stuff out the way to create a big enough space for Sirius’ bed.   
  
The days passed easily. In fact, the only problem with the cheerful routine had emerged when Clare pointed out how very…  _black_  all of Sirius’ clothes were.   
“I like black,” Sirius replied, defensively, over his waffles, though he wasn’t sure he did. “Besides I’m pretty sure my parents have completely disowned me now so I’m going to be wearing these clothes until a job.”  
“’Rever ‘en,” James interjected cheerfully through a mouthful of porridge.   
Sirius mock glared at him and Clare said, “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” and whacked him on the arm with her wooden spoon.  
“Owh,” James grunted and swallowed. “I’ll have you know that child beating’s  _illegal,_  mum.”  
Clare, very sensibly, ignored him and fingered the hem of Sirius’ black t-shirt. “I’m sure Henry could do something with these,” she said thoughtfully.   
“’O ‘hwat?” Henry asked, through more porridge. He, too, was rewarded with a gentle thwack.   
“You could do something with Sirius’ clothes,” Clare said, with a wry smile. “Put your mighty and wasted transfiguration skills to a good use.”  
“He likes black,” Henry pointed out.  
“Probably lying,” James grinned; Sirius flicked porridge at him.   
  
Henry raised some other flimsy objection about having to improve James’ passes in Quidditch until James himself exclaimed, “you’re going to let him get away with that?”  
“What that’s, dear?” Clare asked.  
“The flicking? Of porridge? Over me?”  
She stared at him for a while and burst into laughter.  
“I hate you all,” James said and flicked porridge back at Sirius.   
  
Sirius thought the subject had been dropped until he woke up the next morning to find a new package of clothes at the end of his bed.   
  
Which is why when Sirius Black bounded down the path to greet his other best friend, who was emerging slowly from his father’s rather battered but extremely beloved Ford Prefect a week later, Remus was not quite sure if he was really looking at Sirius at all. The new, Potter-influenced, Sirius was clad in a pair of red shorts, an open shirt covered in blue parrots, wore a pair of sunglasses on top of his shoulder length hair, ran barefoot and almost collided into him with enthusiasm.  
“Hello Moony!” he shouted, catching Remus up in a hug that threatened to suffocate him.   
“’Lo Padfoot,” Remus managed, through Sirius’ death grip. “Glad… see you… let go now, please.”   
Sirius did so and stood back grinning. “Hello,” he said again, happily.   
  
Mr and Mrs Lupin had now emerged from the car and stood together watching Sirius with smiles that were recognisable as Remus’.   
“Good Morning,” Sirius greeted them, sweeping into an elegant bow. “Welcome to the mad house. Clare’s made some tea if you want to go in.”  
“Mmm, excellent,” Mr Lupin said, hiding a smile. “See you inside, Remus.”  
Remus nodded and his parents disappeared quickly, presumably desperate for a few good cups of tea after a three hour journey in the heat trap his father called a car.   
  
A little while passed and Remus realised that nobody had said anything for a while and uttered the first thing that came into head. “You look different.”  
“It’s the shirt,” James agreed, having arrived at a slightly more sedate pace with Peter. “I don’t think he’s taken it off for the last week.”  
“Mmm hygienic,” Remus said with a laugh as Sirius cuffed James around the head affectionately.   
“It’s been  _washed.”  
“Of course_ it has,” James said soothingly, in a tone that suggested Sirius was lying but that he, James, was a bigger man and would humour him.   
“It’s the shorts,” Remus remarked thoughtfully over the top of the sounds of Sirius trying to kill James and James trying to kill him back. “The parrot shirt is almost forgivable in comparison.”  
“Shorts are  _cool,”_  Sirius exclaimed, from the floor.  
Remus raised an eyebrow.   
“Everyone wears them,” Sirius persisted.   
“By which you mean James, Peter and presumably Henry Potter, who tried to convince me that he had invented the broomstick last time I was here and should therefore not be taken seriously unless being consulted about hexes, wear shorts,” Remus deduced with a smile. He, unlike the residents of the Potter household, was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and grey linen trousers, the ends of which were picked up by the light breeze that sent Sirius’ shirt flapping wildly.   
Sirius opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, grinned and started again. “Come out the back,” he suggested.   
Peter started laughing at this and James, who was practically Sirius’ brother by now, smiled guilelessly and indicated a long path past the house.   
“Why-” Remus started, but Sirius shook his head.  
“Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”  
“That’s not particularly encouraging,” Remus pointed out.   
“Trust me,” Sirius said and smiled.   
  
Trusting Sirius Black is a very foolish thing to do and Remus Lupin was certainly not a fool. However, he knew that refusal would send Sirius into a sulking fit that would probably involve him singing loudly until Remus gave in and so, for the sake of his eardrums, he nodded and followed the dark haired boy obediently around James’ house until they reached what had been a giant lawn on his last visit and what was now half lawn and half-  
“It’s a pool,” Remus said, slightly awestruck. “James, you didn’t tell me you had a pool.”  
  
The morning light glistened off the water, as if someone had trapped the sun down there beneath the surface.   
“It’s beautif-” Remus started, well aware that he was standing in front of a large expanse of water fully clothed and that Sirius was about to push him in. Sure enough, half way through the third syllable, he lost contact with the edge of the pool and fell in gracelessly, to the sound of his friends’ laughter.   
He emerged spluttering with water and mock indignation a moment later, in enough time to move very quickly out of the way as Sirius and James dived effortlessly past him. Peter gave a half smile of envy and respect, full of knowledge about his own inadequacy and jumped in next to Remus with a resounding splash.   
  
Soon Sirius surfaced near Remus, grinning damply like a dog at the seaside. “Bet you wish you were wearing shorts now,” he said happily.  
  
Remus laughed and pushed him back beneath the water.


End file.
